Who Am I to Say?
by Erik Thomas Stephans
Summary: Dark!Slytherin!Harry. What if Harry grew up with Tom Riddle's soul Horcrux dominant? First year brings surprises as Harry meets Professor Snape and Draco Malfoy, having a much different perspective and attitude on things than the original Harry had.
1. A New Beginning

**Who Am I to Say?**

_**Basis: **__What if Harry grew up with Tom Riddle's soul (Horcrux) dominant?_

_Chapter 1: A New Beginning_

_[Edited as of July 2011]_

Growing up with the Dursley's was something that Harry despised completely and utterly. It wasn't as if he had much of a choice though unfortunately, but he'd made things turn out well enough for himself - he wasn't just about to go without a bed or anything of that nonsense. If he'd stuck to his thoughts of just keeping low and obeying his relatives, Harry would have most likely wound up sleeping under the stairs rather than in his own room. Even though he had to do a number of chores he didn't think altogether necessary for _him_ to do, he put up with it for the sake of not getting hit with a belt.

School was boring for Harry - too easy. Sometimes it seemed as though he remembered bits and pieces of what he was learning in school, distantly, but it was there. A sort of déjà vu, if you would. Harry read books from the school's library much more than many of his classmates, who found him strange. Often picking fun at the way his hair stuck up in every direction or the fact that he was so scrawny. During recesses and breaks, no one could part the be-speckled boy from the book he was currently immersed in, which was most often non-fiction, much to his teachers' chagrin.

But summers were the worst for the boy, as he didn't have access to the public library as he did to the school library, since he'd often have to be accompanied by an adult or some such nonsense, and it wasn't often that Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia were willing to follow him into a quite place without a telly or a computer to entertain Dudley. For a while, things began to be pretty routine, until Harry had an unprecedented accident when he was attempting to escape from his cousin and friends, who were chasing after him.

He'd run as fast as he could, but he knew that it was unlikely that he would manage to dodge their grasp, finally coming to a staggering halt, collapsing, as his legs couldn't carry him any further. Just as one of the boys was about to hit him, Harry defended himself, covering his head with his thin arms, gritting his teeth, waiting for the blow to come. After a while, when the blow didn't land itself on him, Harry looked around himself, dazedly.

"_Oh, God_..." he'd whispered, his eyes going wide when he realised where he was. Harry had somehow gotten himself up onto the roof of the school building! There was no reasonable explanation for it, although he was severely punished for making such a fuss by his uncle once he got home that evening.

The counselors were beginning to get worried about the young boy, who'd become even more secluded after he'd turned nine, more and more out of touch from the rest of his class, more engrossed in his books and homework than engaging in social activities. The Dursley's didn't like that this nephew of theirs was acting so strangely, despite all that they'd done for him, and they told Harry just that. They thought that Harry should appreciate their kindness more and start acting like a normal kid, like their little "Dudders." Harry nodded and smiled at them, saying he'd do his best in the future, then went back up into his room and finished his homework for the night.

At last came Harry Potter's eleventh birthday. This day was special, since it was the day that he received his letter to Hogwarts, including a list of things he needed to get from a place called "Diagon Alley" and saying he was a wizard. Harry scoffed at this, originally. Sure, there were a number of strange things that happened around him, but a _wizard_? That was quite a load of fictional nonsense! Surely, he thought, this was a prank that someone from school was pulling on him. In a way, though, it felt somehow... right, in a way. At least he considered himself lucky that his relatives weren't home at the time, since they'd managed to think of some way to blame the whole thing on him, the "freak" that he was.

Eventually, a man calling himself Severus Snape (dressed in all black, billowing robes behind him) presented himself at the Dursley's front door, stating that Harry Potter was to come with him to get his school supplies.

"Boy!" Vernon yelled up the stairs, not happy one bit. The man had said something about a letter, although he'd never seen a thing addressed to the boy that was his nephew.

Harry came down, having marked his book and set it on his night stand, coming down the stairs a bit lazily. If it was just something stupid that his uncle wanted him to do like take out the garbage to the street or something, he wasn't going to be all too pleased, but what could he do, really? It was quite the surprise when he reached his uncle that there was another (very strange appearing) man standing next to his uncle.

"You must be the famous Harry Potter then?" the tall, dark man asked, raising an eyebrow at the boy.

"I am Harry; I don't know quite what you're talking about with the famous part, though," Harry replied, pushing his round glasses up the bridge of his thin nose.

"Headmaster Dumbledore has sent me to assist you in getting your school things - I take it you've gotten your letter?" It wasn't so much of a question, with the way that the stranger said it, scowling slightly at him, his black eyes piercing Harry rather uncomfortably.

"I have," the boy agreed, "I left it upstairs, though - I'll go and get it."

The man named Severus Snape turned back to his uncle, saying, "We'll be leaving as soon as he gets his letter - I will return him by the end of the week. I'm sorry for any _inconvenience_ this may provide you with."

"There was no letter that-"

"I'm ready," Harry stated, arriving back down the stairs in record time, his heart pounding. _It was real_ and he couldn't believe it...

"Don't bother with being punctual with the boy - keep him as long as you need to," Vernon grumbled in reply. "And boy, don't you dare go through the mail again without permission! You understand?"

"Yes, sir," Harry managed to reply, hatred for the stupid man raging inside him.

Upon reaching the hotel that he and this strange Snape person were going to be staying in for the week, Harry couldn't help but wondering what it was about everything that felt so bloody _familiar_. Going into Diagon Alley, he couldn't help but turn towards the end that proclaimed headed towards to another ally.

"Knockturn Alley," Harry whispered, reading the sign, the name striking something deep within him.

Snape immediately scowled down at him, putting his hand on Harry's shoulder none too gently. "We haven't got all day," he sneered, stalking off down the other way Harry was facing.

"Sorry," he muttered, his small legs moving fast to keep up with the much taller man. "You never told me who you are, sir."

"I will be your Potions professor," he told the boy, not bothering to look at him as he did. "We'll be getting money from your vault first, so you're able to pay for all of your school supplies."

"The Dursley's told me that my parents died in a car accident, sir," Harry began, pondering on the statement for a second, assessing it now, in a new light. "But I have a feeling that my relative lied to me about a number of things - how did they die?"

Severus stopped rather abruptly, turning around to face the eleven year old, eyeing him skeptically. "Those Muggle relatives of yours never said a word about your parents being _magical_?" he interrogated.

"No," Harry retorted honestly, crossing his arms, shocked that the professor was so stunned by this information.

"They died at the hands of the Dark Lord," he hissed, his eyes flashing with some concealed emotion, pointing to Harry's scar. "It's because of this you're considered so famous: the Boy-Who-Lived. You're the one responsible for the fall of the Dark Lord, Mr. Potter."

"I had no idea," he replied, somewhat breathlessly. There was something about this man that he remembered, maybe not consciously, but somewhere deep within him. It was beginning to bug him, and Harry needed to know why everything recently was making him feel such a way. "Who was this 'Dark Lord'?"

"You will have to speak to the Headmaster about this topic, Mr. Potter; we have more important things to do before the day runs out of light."

It came the time for getting on the train to leave for school; the Dursley's were all too excited to be rid of their nephew for a while, telling him not to write or to come home for the Winter hols. Harry couldn't believe that they'd even bother to remind him - they must have had something rather important going on to feel the need to tell Harry what he already knew all too well. And it wasn't as if he wanted to be around his relatives any more than he needed to, anyway.

Dragging his trunk along (owl cage on top with his beautiful tawny bird, Athena, inside, rather spooked by the presence of so many people) the platforms, Harry began to wonder if he wasn't just missing the specific platform for Hogwarts or it was hidden, as Diagon Alley was (as the guards and attendants nearby had merely looked at him strangely when he'd asked where he might find platform 9 3/4). Spotting a group of redheads who looked very obviously like wizards, Harry approached them, about to ask them politely if they could help him locate the platform, when the cheerful middle-aged woman (Harry assessed was likely to be the mother) pulled him close.

"Oh, you must be looking for platform 9 3/4ths, are you my dear boy?" she asked, smiling widely, although it wasn't exactly what Harry had been expected.

He nodded, not willing to say much of anything, out of his element enough already.

"Don't worry; it's Ron's first time, too!"

After a hectic introduction to all of the Weasley boys and the young girl clinging to her mother's robes (Ginny, he noted), Harry went his separate way, a sigh of relief escaping his lips when he finally untangled himself from the lot of them.

"Golly, you must be _Harry Potter_!" a voice squeaked from behind him once he got on the train. "I've heard all about you - how you killed You-Know-Who and all... Wow," the girl said in awe, a faint blush coming to her cheeks.

"Err," Harry got out, rather hesitantly. "I am, but really, what's so great about defeating someone when you don't remember anything about it?" he asked in return, backing away slowly, ready to run away at any given notice. "I'm sorry; I have to go put down my stuff."

"Oh, I -"

Harry didn't hear the rest of what the brunette was spluttering about him, scowling as he made his way down the train, looking for an empty compartment. He wanted nothing more than to sit down, put up his trunk and get out that book he was reading...

Of course, it was his luck that the door to his compartment slid open, a tall boy about his age coming in, slamming it shut behind him, not realising that there was someone else in there until he nearly ran into him.

"Merlin," the blonde boy cursed, "I didn't see you - you're too quiet!"

"It's all right," Harry retorted, letting out an agitated sigh. "As long as you're not going to be a prat, you're welcome to sit in here."

"Well, that's just swell," the other boy grinned, putting out his hand. "I'm Draco Malfoy."

"Harry Potter," he returned, cringing when he shook Malfoy's hand, wondering how his new acquaintance would react to his name. "It's a pleasure."

"_The_ Harry Potter?" Draco repeated, surprise written in his eyes, "the pleasure is mine, I assure you. I have a feeling that this will turn out well."

"Sorry if I burst your bubble, but I don't remember a thing," he repeated, seemingly for the millionth time since Professor Snape had taken him to Diagon Alley. "I was just a year old, after all."

"I didn't say there was anything wrong about that - just as you said, I can't remember anything from when I was one, either," Draco supplied, shrugging it off. "Have you thought of what House you're going to be in?"

"Professor Snape said I might do well in Ravenclaw," Harry replied, interested in the boy sitting across from him, intrigued that he didn't gape or stare at his scar like everyone else seemed to do, shutting his book a bit reluctantly. He knew that he wouldn't get much of anything read between then and arriving at Hogwarts, now.

"My father says that I'll be in Slytherin - after all, I'm a Malfoy," Draco said, tremendous pride filling his voice. "You might do well in Slytherin, too. After all, you seem the type."

"We'll see," Harry responded, watching the scenery become all green, the sun sinking below the horizon slowly.


	2. Sorting Pains

**Who Am I to Say?**

_**Basis:**_ _What if Harry grew up with Tom Riddle's soul (Horcrux) dominant?_

_Chapter 2: Sorting Pains_

_[Edited as of July 2011]_

Things got pretty tense for Harry, who was most certainly _not_ appreciating the attention he was getting from all of the other students as he stood next to Draco Malfoy outside the doors to the Great Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He stood straight, constantly glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one was going to get the brilliant idea of pointing at him when they thought he wasn't aware. Out of his nervousness, he flattened his hair whenever someone cast a glance at him, to better cover his scar that marked him as the Boy-Who-Lived. It was such a joke, the whole thing, after Draco told him about all that had happened. At last, Harry knew the name of the Dark Lord who he supposedly killed: Lord Voldemort.

It seemed strange to him, having never heard the name before, felt that it was familiar to him, in some sort of way - what was it with him, now? He couldn't do anything now he was in the wizarding world without having an odd sense of repetition come up. Even the part when he got drenched from the dumb oaf, Hagrid, who rocked the boat and all the other first years who had no idea how to sit still in a moving vessel.

Just as he was about to ask Draco something, an stern looking witch appeared, ordering them to get in line according to name, alphabetically, for the role call for the sorting. Harry was impatient, staring at the back of a girl's head, sighing as he felt himself shake due to all the pent up energy apart from the cool air on his still somewhat damp skin. _Stay calm_, he told himself, taking deep breaths as the doors opened and they all marched forward (some quite awkwardly, of course - especially a boy named Neville Longbottom, he duly noted) between two long tables under a charmed ceiling to reflect the sky outside.

While Harry took everything in rather analytically, merely absorbing it all for later assessment, the other first years gasped in awe at everything from the ghosts to the floating candles above the four tables, before which four different banners were hung. The older students sitting at their tables, having been sorted in years previous; grinned and waved at their younger siblings, adding to the chaos of the moment.

Closing his eyes, the small boy tried to shut out all the noises that filled the hall, wishing that they'd all just shut their traps and let them get on with the sorting already. It was much to his pleasure when the woman who'd brought them into the Hall addressed them, demanding that they all be quite so that the sorting may begin.

After a very uninteresting song, each student was called individually to sit on the stool the rugged-looking hat sat, Professor McGonagall placing it over their heads, often covering their eyes and ears, appearing rather ridiculous. Upon a few seconds of sitting on the heads of the new students, the Sorting Hat shouted out the House to which the first year belonged, followed by a cheer and an eager welcoming of each one to their respective tables.

"Harry Potter," was called, shaking the said boy out of a daze, stepping forward, sitting down on the stool, scowling as the old hat fell over his eyes and ears. Immediately, there was a faint muttering in his ears, whispering something about certain traits he had and those that he lacked.

"_Well, dear boy, it seems you'd do well in Ravenclaw and Slytherin,_" came the voice which Harry presumed to be the hat - what else would it be?

_'Not with that one girl_,' he put out mentally, recalling as the girl on the train who he'd first run across had been sorted into Ravenclaw. '_Please not Ravenclaw_.'

"_I see you have a yearning to stay under the radar, well then, I'd say you belong to SLYTHERIN!"_ the hat announced to the Great Hall, leaving Harry very eager to stride towards his allotted table, right next to Draco, who clapped joyously upon his arrival.

Harry could feel that it was going to be a long week already, smiling hesitantly as the Malfoy introduced him to the other Slytherins once the Headmaster (Dumbledore) had told them to "dig in". Each hand he shook, Harry greeted with a nod of the head, noticing how the students in Slytherin weren't so eager to talk to him. Likely due to the fact that some of them felt he was out of place in the House of Snakes, as he'd killed their Lord, or that's what Draco had told him when they were on the train as a forewarning.

"Don't worry, they'll appreciate you, eventually," he'd assured Harry, grinning widely as he started eating his portion of the feast.

Upon waking, Harry found himself in the Slytherin Common Rooms, a bit confused at first, but quickly adapting. There was one thing he knew for certain: Quirrell was a queer fellow, and he'd get to the bottom of why just looking at the man had made his head ache so terribly for a few seconds. But, at the moment, there were some more important things to take care of, such as getting his books and parchment together for his classes and getting into his robes.

Walking down the corridors, finding his classrooms with Draco wasn't as bad as it would have been if he went alone, as people were much more intimidated by Draco and his goons, Crabbe and Goyle, than of Harry.

'_They should be afraid of me_,' came a thought, somewhat unbidden, from within himself. Shaking it off as nothing, Harry continued down the hall, scowling at his admirers, still unable to quite understand why they were so fixated on him.

Classes went well enough; their Head of House was much more lenient to them and the other Slytherins than the Gryffindors (who were taking Potions with them). Professor Snape awarded a number of points to Harry, Draco and a few others for answering his questions correctly, deducting points from a Gryffindor named Granger who was on the border of being extremely annoying. The other classes went fairly well, ranging from somewhat interesting to downright dull. (History class, of course, with Binns.)

An announcement was made in the middle of that week for mandatory flying lessons beginning for first years, starting the next week, on Thursday. Harry wasn't looking forward to these _mandatory_ lessons at all - he despised flying almost as much as he hated the Dursley's. How would he know, one might ask. It was simple, really: he could feel it in his gut, the mere thought of flying causing his stomach to churn, forcing him to skip dinner that night.

Of course, claiming that he had a dreadful fear of heights (as one of the Gryffindor boys, Longbottom) was wouldn't help his case, apparently, as everyone was forced to participate. Standing in the line next to Draco, Harry tried his best not to look absolutely miserable while his friend was far too excited for his own good.

"Just don't look down," Draco whispered to him as they mounted their brooms.

Unexpectedly, the klutzy boy, Longbottom, had a rather temperamental broom, which took off without any warning, causing the Gryffindor to go rocketing off the magicked thing when he could hold on no longer, falling onto the pitch from twenty feet high, landing flat on his face with a dull thud. Everyone cringed, Madam Hooch running off to help Longbottom, who was clutching his wrist, crying pathetically.

"Well, so much for having much of a flying lesson today," the blonde grumbled, reluctantly obeying Hooch's orders not to do anything while she went to take Longbottom to the Hospital Wing.

"Thank Merlin," Harry breathed, dropping the broom, disgust for the thing written all over his face. "I don't understand what's so appealing about riding around on a stick chasing around a pitch after charmed balls. And grown wizards do this for a living?"

Draco looked shocked at first with his friend's bad mouthing of the wizarding sport but realised that Harry was much more mature than many other first years that he knew and let the matter sit for the time being. It wasn't like he could try out for the team in his first year, anyway, as was according to the rules.

"Cheer up, Draco," the green-eyed youth counseled, smirking slyly at the other, "I'll think of some other interesting things we can do with our time."

"So, the Great Harry Potter, the Slytherin, is just a coward," claimed a voice, reminding Harry much of the annoying Weasley's. He seethed silently, wishing the bugger would just leave him alone, for once. "You didn't show to the duel that Malfoy and I arranged."

"I see that you have a month's worth of detention from Filch, though, Weasley," Harry retorted, sneering at the ginger.

"Only because you told him about it - if you'd just not been so _cowardly_, you-"

"I believe that being brave and _foolish _was a Gryffindor trait, not a Slytherin one, which explains why you are the bloody idiot stuck in detention with Filch. Wouldn't you say, Harry?" Draco drawled, a crooked smile on his face, staring down Weasley.

Harry merely nodded, raising his eyebrows at the fuming redhead, whose ears were darkening to match the colour of his hair. The young wizard chuckled darkly then went off to attend to his homework, not bothering with the stupid Gryffindor who started shouting at Draco again. He just hoped that his friend wouldn't get himself into much trouble with any of the professors while he was in the dungeons. Draco had assured him that he could take care of himself but Harry doubted most of that was true, given the examples that he had to go off of from just the first two weeks of school, alone.

"Leaving me with Weasley wasn't very kind," Draco accused, sitting down next to Harry, who was finishing up his Potion's assignment and moving onto the Transfiguration work that was due the next week. "You're already done with the assignment that Professor Snape gave us?" he asked, shocked, easily forgetting how he'd been wronged, taking a hold of the parchment, skimming Harry's somewhat elegant scrawl.

"I'll help you when I'm done with this one," he mumbled, continuing to work in silence, focused entirely on what he was writing; pausing occasionally to think about how to phrase something.

It was Halloween night and the Great Hall was completely decorated for the holiday. Harry couldn't care less about what day of the year it was, even if it was the day that celebrated ten years since his parents' death at the hand of the Dark Lord and the night that the Dark Lord was supposedly defeated.

The peace and quiet that Harry cherished so dearly was interrupted by Quirrell, who burst into the Great Hall, declaring, "Troll! Troll in the dungeons! ... Thought you should know," weakly, then collapsing on the floor.

Nearly everyone immediately began chattering nervously, eyes appraising the fainted professor, then looking at the Slytherins, then up to the Head table to see what might happen...

"I'm getting out of here," Harry grumbled, closing the book he was reading and stalked out of the Great Hall while there was plenty of confusion that he wouldn't be noticed as he left. Draco followed closely behind him.

"What are you thinking?" the blonde boy demanded, a bit hysterical. "You're going to get yourself killed, Potter! What in Merlin's name are you thinking?"

"Oh, Draco," Harry whispered, smiling rather creepily at his companion. "If I come across this supposed troll, I believe that I can take care of it myself - what good would this magical education be and my reading be, if I didn't apply it?"

"You're not thinking of seeking it out, are you?" Malfoy asked, mouth agape, eyes wide, unsure if Harry was toying with him or not.

"Why not? Prove that I'm not such a coward after all, or so that Weasley termed me?" he returned, his green eyes dancing playfully in the dim light of the corridors.

Off in the distance, the two heard a slow scrapping and shuffling of might be large feet.

"Good Merlin, save us," Draco whimpered, ducking behind Harry as they came face to face with the dumb creature that was called a troll.

"Malfoy, you're nearly as pathetic as Longbottom if you think this is scary," Harry told Draco, somewhat snidely, a wicked smile unfolding on his lips, his entire expression darkening. "Watch and learn the proper application of magic, Draco..."


	3. Poisonous Thoughts

**Who Am I to Say?**

_**Basis:**_ _What if Harry grew up with Tom Riddle's soul (Horcrux) dominant?_

_[Edited as of July 17, 2011]_

_"Malfoy, you're nearly as pathetic as Longbottom if you think this is scary," Harry told Draco, somewhat snidely, a wicked smile unfolding on his lips, his entire expression darkening. "Watch and learn the proper application of magic, Draco..."_

_Chapter 3: Poisonous Thoughts_

"Just because I'm not as reckless as you're being -"

"Shut your trap," Harry hissed at the Malfoy, his eyes focused on the corridor ahead of him.

Once the large creature managed to make its way closer to where the two boys where hiding, Harry dashed out in front of it, pulling out his wand, aiming it at the dumb thing, muttering a spell that Draco couldn't quite hear. The light that issued from Harry's wand was a dark red in colour, which mystified Draco – _surely he wouldn't cast that spell at school?_

The grin gracing Harry's lips radiated self-satisfaction and pleasure as the dead troll fell to the ground with a large _thud _that echoed down the corridors. He turned around to stare at Draco, his eyes gleaming with untold mischief.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" he asked the other first year, slipping his wand back into his robes. "Now, we better get back to our dorms before they spot us, eh?"

Draco could only nod and follow his friend back to their common room, constantly looking over his shoulder to make sure that none of the professors were right behind them. He'd rather not get in trouble over this, of all things.

When they got back into the Slytherin common rooms, Draco couldn't help but ask, "What if they check your wand to see if you cast any spells that would warrant some investigation?"

"Draco," Harry began, setting aside his book for a second, "I suspect that if anyone would check our wands, it would be Professor Snape, who would first ask for an explanation before he went to report to Dumbledore. Really, be more realistic for me, please, Draco?"

Sighing, the blonde just agreed and began getting out his books on the subjects he needed Harry's help on for the homework that was due the following week. Not too soon after the other boys in their dorm started trickling back in, which happened a good hour or so after Harry and Draco had begun going over their homework, Professor Snape came into the room, motioning to Harry to follow him. The young wizard was lead into a secluded part of the common room, upon arriving, the Potions Master erected a privacy ward so that what he would say would only be heard by Harry.

"Mr. Potter," the professor began, looking at Harry, assessing him for a moment before continuing, "I would like to know where you and Mr. Malfoy were tonight."

"In our dorm room, sir, working on homework," Harry told him, sighing, looking away from the man's face for a second. "I'm not one for celebrating Halloween, sir, as you might know," he whispered, a slight scowl apparent on his lips, his eyes slightly more glassy than usual.

"I understand," Professor Snape returned, nodding in respect, "the Headmaster was only worried about your safety tonight, as you were missed during the feast."

"Oh, I apologize," the young boy replied, his voice softer than usual, doing his best to smile at his head of house. "Did something happen?" he asked, noticing the tears in Professor Snape's robes, trying to appear concerned for his teacher.

"Nothing of great importance, Mr. Potter," he retorted snidely, grimacing. "Don't try to be so worry-some in the future, Mr. Potter – and it would be best if you and Mr. Malfoy got to bed soon, so you'll have enough energy for tomorrow."

Harry nodded, becoming more serious – after all, tomorrow's events consisted of a Potion's exam and a Charms practical exam, which he needed to study a bit for. "Thank you, Professor Snape. I shall see you tomorrow, then."

"Good night, Mr. Potter," Severus Snape said by way of a farewell, taking down the privacy charm and sweeping off to his own rooms, perhaps, or possibly to do his rounds of the corridors as the professors often were assigned.

Smirking at his own luck, Harry watched his professor leave the Slytherin Common Room, turning and going back into his own dorms to continue studying with Draco, who was likely going to want to know about what Snape wanted. He'd tell him – only after the bloody Malfoy proved that he could actually remember what ingredients in the potion their were studying made it poisonous if brewed incorrectly... Turns out, Draco proved himself by answering it almost completely correct, which was an easy mistake to make, of course, as Harry had gotten wrong when he'd first looked over the assignment.

A week and a few days (two days, to be exact) later found the two boys (one rather unpleasantly bored, the other very much over-excited) sitting in the stands on the Quidditch field. Harry had wrapped himself up with his green and silver scarf, a cloak, and an extra two layers beneath his robes to make sure he wouldn't freeze to death while he was passively ignoring Draco's cheers and jeers at the other team during the Quidditch game. Although Harry did feel some house pride, he didn't find Quidditch all too interesting; after all, what was so bloody exciting about watching men and women on broomsticks, flying around at dangerous speeds chasing after magic balls? Obviously, Draco believed that Harry was deprived as a child and couldn't appreciate the goodness that was a wizarding sport. Harry didn't feel the need to let Draco know that he felt that ever sport – wizarding or not – would be a total and complete waste of anyone's time. Especially his.

Harry ended up conceding to Draco's immature insistence on continuing to go to Quidditch games, much to Harry's displeasure. There was no arguing with the Malfoy when he wouldn't hear reason, so there was no point in fighting an endless battle. Especially against one as stubborn as Draco Malfoy.

The Quidditch game had gone to Slytherin, as Harry had found out from Draco later that day at dinner. After all, from what Harry gathered, Gryffindor had a horrible Seeker, which attributed to the total dominance of the house of snakes, this game. It was hard not to pick up at least that, with all the shouting across the hall between the Slytherins and Gryffindors. It was quite tiring, honestly. All Harry cared about was that _his_ house was winning. And if all this rivalry boosted Draco's morale, all the better, unless it interfered with studies. Then, there would be apt punishment.

Thusly, Harry ended up being Draco's personal tutor. As if he wasn't fulfilling that capacity as it was. He hoped that this would be limited to a couple days a week, leaving the weekend free of the irritating, immature Malfoy. Alas, this was not the case, it seemed: it soon became evidently necessary to keep track of the blond every day, many hours of every day. And this was likely to drive Harry mad.

There was _no way in hell_ that would happen – not while he was allowed to have a say in anything.

_Although_, Harry added as an after thought, _having Malfoy constantly around might not be so bad. He might learn a few things, and his mere presence will allow me to work in peace, outside of his rather annoying (but tolerable in comparison) commentary._

On the up side, Harry could now convince Draco to practically do anything the rest of the day, since he'd gone to the Quidditch game with him, despite his own better judgement. Thinking of what he might torture the blonde with, now, would be an assignment he would handle with immense pleasure. He'd do his best to make it slow and painful, just as the game had gone by to Harry – pain in equal measure was the best policy, yes? Well, at least Mr. Potter thought so.

"Draco," the green-eyed boy said, his lips barely putting forth effort to move much at all, restraining his voice to a whisper. Harry assessed his companion as Draco turned to face him, those Killing Curse green eyes of his glimmering with something that Draco couldn't quiet pin down. "I believe we have a test coming up in Charms – you do realise that this is the singularly most important exam, outside of the final, right?"

The blond nodded solemnly.

"And you must realise that I've been looking over that mudblood, Granger's shoulder for my own sake, but I have begun to notice that your scores have slipped a bit too much below hers…"

The stunned and somewhat fearful expression etched in Draco Malfoy's face must have been evident from fifty metres away. Harry could feel it radiating off of him. Tactics such as this were oft considered cruel punishment – after all, there really was no test in Charms, but Draco wasn't any the wiser about it. But, these were good tools of the trade, given what he had to deal with: an immature, spoiled prat that wouldn't listen to reason otherwise.

He murmured something that was relatively inaudible to Harry. It didn't really matter, though, since Harry already knew what the other was going to reply with, anyway.

"I couldn't hear that – come again?" the bespectacled youth asked, raising his eyebrows, faking the sincerity of unknowing.

Flushing with embarrassment, Draco repeated, loud enough for Harry to actually hear: "I would _prefer_ not to slip too far below her..."

"Good – I mean, after all, you wouldn't want to be a disappointment to your father, yes?" Harry retorted, a fiendish grin unfolding on his lips, talking more to himself than to Draco, taking a sudden interest in the state of his finger nails.

Instilled with silent determination, Draco gathered his books and notes from Charms, shoving them into his bag once they got to the dungeons, his face grim. Harry could only smile at his own brilliance in manipulating his _friend_, very proud of how easily he could put up with the blonde, now. Of course, it was likely that the pureblood youth was just easier to read and order around than most because of his upbringing. As long as you knew the right buttons to push. Then again, there were a few aspects of Draco that Harry still couldn't quite figure out completely. He would figure it all out, soon enough, he estimated.

The two of them headed off for the library, sitting down in their usual places, taking out their books, parchment, and quills. Harry put off an aura of confidence, now that he was among his most comfortable element – books: the containers of knowledge. And knowledge was power, no matter where you lived. Muggle or Wizarding world. Either way, the more you know, the easier and faster someone can get what they want, which generally equates to having power over others. After all, having information that they need (or, at least, have the illusion of needing) will always grant someone the upper hand.

"Harry?" Draco repeated, now prodding the oblivious Harry's arm, hard. "You okay? You were spacing out, there..."

"Yes, just thinking, that's all," he shrugged off, then grabbed the parchment that Draco was working on, taking his own quill to it (red ink – how else could he have it?) to correct what he had so far.

"This is pathetic," Harry sneered a while later as he slid the page back to the blonde. Draco was astonished by the liberal amounts of red on his paragraph on the uses for the charm they were studying. So much that it looked as if it was bleeding. "You need to think about situations when you might otherwise be unable to cast other more opportunistic spells for the fear of safety and caution. Not everyone can go around using Dark magic for everything – the Ministry will see to that. I'm sure not even the Dark Lord himself could go waltzing around, lazily casting dark magic every which way, Draco."

"I didn't think about that," he muttered breathlessly, spell-bound by the notes Harry wrote off in the margins. "I think you should be a professor, Harry," Draco proclaimed, rather suddenly, and most assuredly, unexpected by his friend.

Harry was struck by the strongest sense of déjà vu yet and it took a few seconds for him to recompose himself and come up with a good retort: "Just because I'm smarter than you doesn't mean I can make a living off of teaching kids this sort of stuff. I'm not even sure I'd be able to tolerate five classrooms full of kids every day," he grumbled, honestly.

Really, if he thought about it – maybe if he could intimidate them all into submission, as Professor Snape was rather accomplished at, it might not be so bad. Perhaps he would even be somewhat good at it... But now wasn't the time to think about such things; after all, he still had to get through all of his seven years before he could even dream of _teaching_.

Neither of the first year students noticed the person across the way listening in on what the boys were talking about, rather than actually taking interest in the book he had opened in front of him. Harry had noted, mentally who he was and that he was there, but hadn't taken into consideration that they would eaves-drop on his conversation with Malfoy.


	4. In the Realm of the Visible

**Who Am I to Say?**

_By Angelis Raye_

_**Basis:**_ _What if Harry grew up with Tom Riddle's soul (Horcrux) dominant?_

_Chapter 4: In the Realm of the Visible_

There was a faint unwillingness of Draco's attitude that day that was driving Harry into the deep end – that is, if he wasn't there already, with all that happened the past few days.

"Will you _please_!" he hissed at his companion, glaring at him dangerously, which immediately never failed to shut the blonde up for at least an hour. Harry was attempting to get his homework and studying done for Potions, and admittedly, it wasn't coming to him as easily as it should have been. Blaming it on Draco, at first, with his loudness, was the first thing Harry could think of, but that theory fell through, as he still couldn't focus on the task set before him with the other boy being silent. The only other thing that Harry could think of to blame was the infernal burning of his scar that he'd earned from the Dark Lord all those years ago on Halloween.

He couldn't think of why he'd be experiencing this sort of pain, _now_, of all times. Really, he was in the Library, and it'd never done this to him before – so, perhaps it didn't have to do with the place, but the people?

Glancing around himself, Harry only saw Quirrell, who was acting very strange, in the corner, a book trembling in his hands, his lips moving, but Harry couldn't hear anything the man was saying. Other than the professor, the librarian and himself, the only person in the Library was Draco, who'd never caused him any _physical_ problems before. So, that made Quirrell the source of his concentration issue, eh? Perhaps it would be who of him to ask what the professor was doing and then possibly finding out why he was having such a bad reaction to his Defence teacher when he hadn't before.

Just as Harry was about to rise from his chair, however, the professor put the book back on the shelf, nodded to Harry and Draco a little nervously and scurried out of the Library.

"That was odd," he muttered, scowling, his brow bent in concentration. At least, now he didn't have such a disturbance to deal with that was getting in the way of his studies. He'd deal with Quirrell over the winter hols, as it would be him, a few other students, and the teachers that remained over the break. Harry welcomed this much-needed break, as it would be a way of getting rid of the Malfoy for a few weeks and he deserved some time off.

–

Bliss. Freedom. _Silence_... at last!

Without Draco there, Harry was free to study what he wished, when he so desired to, and all without the constant nagging of a spoiled blonde brat. Draco often told Harry he was too pale, too thin, and too reclusive to be a proper eleven year old. Not that Harry paid any attention to these remarks.

No longer did Harry have to conform to a schedule – well, at least for a few weeks – and could spend ample time in the Library, studying. Of course, there were a number of professors that were much too keen to let Harry on his own too much, McGonagall, the Transfiguration teacher, especially. He couldn't imagine why the woman was so intent on making sure that he stayed out of trouble over the winter hols.

Might have something to do with how strangely Quirrell was acting around him, causing his scar to burn at time, Harry thought. It was disturbing that it was only on certain occasions that the professor's presence around Harry actually caused such a reaction. Whatever the reason, it was proving to be even more annoying than Draco, if that was probable, having a teacher around him almost all the time. How would he be able to put into practice the spells he was secretly learning from the books he'd taken from the Restricted section in the library (of course, with Snape's permission), which he'd disguised as fiction novels. Thankfully, he'd thought enough to disguise them as ones he'd already read.

Sitting at the table that had been placed in the centre of the great hall – the four large tables were pushed to the sides – Harry glanced at the others sitting there eating lunch with him. All the teachers, except for ones he didn't really know all that well, were present, including a few that he guessed to be the Ancient Runes and Arithmacy professors. It was all too surreal, the first time, but Harry got used to the experience by the second day.

"How's your studies coming, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, smiling cheerfully at him.

"Well," he responded, not looking up but for a second to acknowledge the wizened wizard.

"Mr. Potter," came another voice, one he wasn't too familiar with – the Arithmacy teacher, Harry noted as he determined who the voice had come from. "I do hope that you decide to take my class next year – I've already talked it over with Professor Dumbledore..."

Harry didn't really care what the woman was saying, to be honest – he'd rather hurry and finish the meal and leave to find himself an empty classroom to practice his black magic in. Well, perhaps he wouldn't be so daring as to do that during the middle of the day, really, but he was looking forward to being alone in the Slytherin common rooms again tonight.

"I'm sure that Mr. Potter prefers to keep to himself, Madam Vector." That was Professor Snape, thank Merlin, who interrupted her inane ramblings, providing Harry a method of escape.

"Excuse me," he murmured, pushing his chair in behind him as he left for the Library once more. Suddenly, he felt the pain in his scar return, causing him to glance over his shoulder as he caught eyes with Quirrell. Harry honestly didn't know what the creepy professor wanted from him – but he certainly was going to find out very soon, no matter the circumstances.

–

Christmas morning, Harry came downstairs into the common room to find a pine tree all dressed up with a festive skirt, lights, and so forth in the middle of the room, with Professor Snape lounging in the chair, observing his Slytherin student, looking up from his book.

"I didn't know the headmaster was so inclined," Harry muttered, not helping but notice a single gift under the tree that was addressed to him. "Interesting..." he whispered, pulling the wrapping apart after reading the card that stated: "Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well. A very merry Christmas to you."

Within the wrap lay a silvery material that Harry couldn't help but feel awe over. "Merlin," he breathed, examining his only Christmas present he'd had in year. "What is this?" he asked his professor, looking over his shoulder, wondering if the older man knew anything about it.

"It's something that should be used in only dire circumstances, Mr. Potter – an invisibility cloak of the highest grade, I'm afraid," Severus Snape told his student, pausing for a second. "If I do catch you using that infernal thing to sneak out and cause mischief, I'll confiscate it until you've proved yourself worthy and mature enough."

–

But, of course, that very night found young Harry Potter wandering around the empty hallways of Hogwarts, looking for anything that might just be interesting enough to pique his curiosity. He didn't find it the first night. He did, however, manage to nearly get caught by Professor Quirrell, who was making his rounds around the halls, presumably. It was strange that he was suspiciously hanging around the third floor, which was supposed to be off-limits. What was it that he was so interested in?

Harry preferred to do a bit of research before diving into something. Mostly to save his own arse from getting into a good deal of trouble or from the painful consequences of being unprepared. He'd learned his lesson enough times from his younger days living with his aunt, uncle, and Dudley. Especially from that mentally deficient "Aunt" Marge and her bloody dogs. Harry cultivated a hatred for all things dogs, be it domestic or wild – the things just couldn't be trusted to play nicely with him, even if they are supposedly "trained".

So, this lead Harry to retire early that night (well, early for a night of exploration and mischief, that is) and dedicate himself to finding out what just might be lying behind that mysterious locked, door on the third corridor.

After a week of extensive reading and gathering of information, Harry merely knew that it was likely to be whatever Professor Snape picked up in Diagon Alley when he was with him. And what that was, he hadn't much of a clue. Other than the fact that whatever it was, someone had wanted it something fierce, breaking into that particular vault in Gringotts. And Gringotts was thought to be impenetrable? Well, obviously, not entirely.

_Wait_…

Wasn't Quirrell pacing the third floor corridor? And wasn't he the one that alerted the staff of the fact there was a troll on the loose on Halloween night? There was just a bit too much suspicious activity surrounding those aforementioned events to be merely coincidence.

But did that mean that Quirrell was his prime suspect? There could be a very good explanation for this from some of the other professors, but Harry would rather not raise any of the professors' awareness of his interest in the whole deal.

Under the radar was the best place to be, in Harry's opinion – being just below the sweep so he could get away with more things than others. He got excellent grades on his papers, but not too wonderful, as not to stand out too much, but well enough to appease himself and the professors. Doing well in classes also got the very same professors from breathing down his neck about doing assignments and so forth. And he only helped out Malfoy because he couldn't avoid it. Which was very unfortunate, indeed.

Concerning Quirrell, though, Harry wasn't sure how to approach this, exactly. Perhaps he should offer to help the "poor" and "stuttering" teacher some help with things? That might be a little direct, and he'd have to observe for a while before making his move, but Harry deemed that was the best route to finding out just what the Defence professor was up to.

--

In the meanwhile, however, Harry spent his time wandering and exploring the inside of the rest of the castle, eventually running across a room that was nearly empty. The room was empty: vacant, dust almost an inch thick on the floor and the chests and chairs, which were pushed up against the walls of the abandoned classroom; all except for a lone mirror that was very beautiful in and of itself, standing in the corner, very out of place amongst the dust and dirt.

The way it had been placed so specifically in that very corner, not exactly perpendicular to the door of the classroom, made Harry believe that someone put this mirror, for all its wonderful appearances, here on purpose. Whoever put it there didn't expect the room to be found all that easily, simply deciding to place the reflecting glass right out in the open. Obviously, the person hadn't expected that Harry would find the corridor the room was situated in to begin with.

_Well, then__…_ was all Harry could think, faced with the strangeness of this grand affair.

Perplexed, he moved slowly towards the mirror, examining it with care, his steps measured and purposeful; making sure that the invisibility cloak was still tightly wrapped around him. _'It could be a trap,' _something in him whispered, full of suspicion and warning tones, but coming across as knowledgeable and experienced, all the same, causing Harry to err on the side of caution.

Finally close enough to make out the minute details, Harry found that the mirror had something engraved upon it: "_Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi._"

Initially, Harry dismissed it as some archaic language, but after peering around himself again, casting only a small glance to the reflecting glass, itself, a thought dawned upon him.

"I show… no-_not_ your face… but yo-_your_…heart's desire," he whispered as he figured it out. Unbelievingly, he repeated it, mentally, in more coherent manner, still staring at the engraved words, not really seeing them anymore.

Once the thought of it sank in, Harry immediately looked away from the mirror, unsure if he wanted to know what his heart's desire was. Was he afraid of what he'd see, perhaps? Harry wasn't all too sure of it, himself, at the moment, but he knew that he'd regret it if he didn't find out. After all, would he be able to find the classroom again?

Hopefully, he would, but then, there was the matter of if the mirror would still be housed here. After all, this looked very much like a temporary storage area for it.

Torn with indecision for a few minutes, Harry debated with himself: _should he look or forever hold his peace_? A mental nudge arose from within him – sounding much like the voice from earlier – telling him, '_Look, will you?_' sounding very impatient this time, throwing caution and suspicion out the window without a care, driven more by curiosity than anything else.

And so, Harry looked.

_To be Continued._

--

Well, this was done in two parts, really. The first half was accomplished rather soon after I'd posted chapter 3, but I got side-tracked with school and didn't feel very motivated to finish the chapter -- until today, when I wrote the second half. That's that and now this one's finished. I hope that the voices of the two parts aren't too horribly different and conflicting -- I started watching Dexter about a month or so ago... and it's rather influence how I write Harry Potter fanfiction, I think.

Reviews, comments, questions (which will, as always, be answered as quickly as humanly possible), and whatever else you feel is an appropriate responce to this chapter is very welcome.


	5. Seeing Into the Soul

**Who Am I to Say?**

_By Angelis Raye_

_**Basis:**_ _What if Harry grew up with Tom Riddle's soul (Horcrux) dominant?_

_Chapter 5: Seeing into the Soul_

Silence. It was wonderful, really. Too bad it was all going to end in just another week. Harry was really going to miss having silence surrounding him, swallowing him whole when he was alone, and just doing what he wanted to.

That was another thing: doing whatever the hell he felt like doing. He'd long for these days when Draco came back from winter holidays. '_What a let down_', was all he could think of, his mind wandering off when he read about a reference to dragons in the text he was reading.

'_Tell me about it_,' came the nearly customary voice in the back of his head.

Harry doubted that he was going crazy, mostly because he'd always heard it, to a certain extent. It was just louder, now, that he was alone at the school. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact he was in a place so concentrated with magic? Either way, it was a handy little thing to have, especially when he needed answers to things he would normally be completely stumped on.

Before the weekend, Harry had run into Dumbledore at the mirror on his second time there during the previous week. Dumbledore, of course, had asked him what he'd seen, saying that he saw himself holding a pair of new socks. As if Harry believed _that_….

--

"Mr. Potter," the headmaster addressed him as he stepped into the room, only slightly surprised to see the man sitting there to the side. "I am here to tell you that the mirror will be moved, shortly. Please, don't go looking for it."

Following a heavy silence, Harry nodded, prompting Dumbledore to continue talking: "Many a man has wasted away in front of this mirror, Mr. Potter, and I do hope that you won't be among them – moving the mirror will be as much for your safety as for anything else."

"I know, Headmaster," the boy replied, his voice somewhat quiet.

"Good, I'm glad," he returned, smiling, a twinkle in his eye. "How is the House of Snakes treating you?"

"Well, I would suppose," Harry told him, not wishing to talk any longer. The voice in the back of his head was a constant hiss of discomfort and dislike, whispering warning about what to say and what not to say in front of his seemingly-harmless old man.

"Not really sure, yet, are you? I guess it's a bit early to tell, isn't it, Harry?" he asked with a small laugh. "That's all right, though. No worries. Just tell me if anything happens?"

Obligingly, Harry nodded, saying that he would. '_As if that'll ever happen_,' the sarcastic voice within him muttered, putting off feelings of resentment towards the white-haired professor.

"If you'd tell me, I'd like to know what you saw in the mirror, Harry," Dumbledore said, nice and docile, with an edge to his voice as he did.

Shrugging, Harry shifted his weight from the right to his left, almost going to look up at the headmaster as he did, pulling off the perfect lie, but the voice urged him very much _not _to look into the professor's eyes. There was no explanations given, but Harry knew well enough from experience just to trust the dark monster inside of him.

"What do you see, Professor Dumbledore, sir?" he asked, instead, holding back a grin, his face etched with innocent inquiry.

"Myself, hold a new pair of socks, of course," the headmaster replied with ease, smiling once more at Harry.

After that wonderful exchange, Harry was disappointed that he didn't get to look into the mirror once more, but knew that it was for the best, in the end. Perhaps he'd come across it at a later time, despite what Dumbledore said.

--

Then, there was the previous time, when he'd first seen the mirror. Ah, that was amazing, of course. To see himself as such… was it possible?

'_Only if you follow the right path_,' the devil within him reminded, as it has said when he'd first asked upon seeing the reflection in the mirror.

So, that was his heart's desire, was it? To be the Dark Lord – take the place of the one that had killed his parents and stuck him with those horrid Aunt and Uncle of his?

It didn't make much sense to Harry at the moment, but, he'd rather it be something to figure out and investigate than be obvious so suddenly. If it was easy, what would the fun be in figuring it all out? Besides, it was only simple people who had simple desires, so it was said.

--

"Reading Abdul Alhazred's _Necronomion_,* are you, Mr. Potter?" Professor Snape asked him, shaking Harry out of his memories of the mirror and Dumbledore.

He merely nodded his head, preferring to keep reading, rather than answer the question, yet, entranced.

"I'll leave you be, then – tell me when you're ready to be social, Mr. Potter," the man continued, pulling out his own book as he sat next to the only one of his house present in the school at the moment, casting a sideways glance at the boy and the book once more before settling down.

Upon finishing a particular part on raising a dead man's spirit intact, Harry closed the book slowly, savoring the knowledge he gained from it. Even the normally commentary inside was rather silent, surprisingly; it was also feeling very relaxed and fulfilled, which was a strange feeling for Harry. But other than that, here was Professor Snape that he had to deal with, now.

"Good afternoon, Professor," he greeted, polite but to the point.

"I do think that you're a bit too young to read that, Mr. Potter," Professor Snape warned him, his voice a bid disapproving. "You are reading the one out of the Restricted Section, right?"

"No,sir," Harry replied, a bit confused. "I got it from one of the libraries around my house. I didn't have the proper title on it, when I picked it up, but it was calling to me, sir, that's all. So, I asked to borrow it for over school term and they let me – no one else borrows it, apparently." As he told his teacher this, he closed the metal clasps adoringly, smiling as he gazed at it.

Needless to say, the man was a little taken aback. He hadn't realized that there were still more copies out in the Muggle world, outside of those few places that they were allowed by the Ministry of Magic. After all, they were supposed to be kept well-checked and in plain sight. And yet Potter got hold of one, himself? Of course, this, he'd keep from Dumbledore for a while, unless it proved to prove too dangerous. It wasn't as if an eleven year old Slytherin was going to conquer the world, just based upon his reading of a book, right?

'_It's time_,' moaned the beast inside of Harry's soul, aching to be let loose and do what it does best: mischief and terror. Amongst other things, of course, but there was a limit to how much _It_ could do with someone so young and still somewhat innocent.

Harry whispered back the best he could, reasoning with the demon within, trying to persuade it with the logic that the Professor would suspect him of something if he just up and left so suddenly…. But the dark thing wouldn't heed these pleas, making _Its_ own claim stronger, more insistent, which took its told on Harry, most certainly.

"Professor… I'm going to go study in the common rooms, now… I hope you have a splendid night, sir," Harry told Snape with a grin, bowing slightly, hugging the book close to himself, caressing the binding with his thin fingers.

"Do you have your assignments done?"

"Yes, sir, I do have them completed."

"Then I expect you to hand in the Potion's essay in to me tomorrow," the Professor said, flatly, going back to his own reading as Harry excused himself. He was glad that Potter was such a good student. That and that Draco had chosen a good person to get along with – the thin, scrawny boy might appear weak, but that was merely the physical. Severus Snape could sense that there was power that was larger than was possible for someone so young. He waved it off, though – that could be dealt with at another time when he was less occupied with trying to find out exactly _what_ Quirrell was up to.

--

The last time _It_ had free reign was when _It _had convinced the child that he needed to kill the troll. Of course, this was brilliance on his part, but it wasn't with the normal methods that _It_ killed the beast. All of this so that nothing detrimental to _Its_ cause happened to the boy, _Its_ vessel, of sorts.

_Its _other part was somewhat close, _It_ could feel that. And it wasn't all too pleasant to think of how _It _might be limited in _Its_ movements because of the presence of this other part of _Itself_ floating around, taking another body hostage. Nothing nearly as complete as _It_ had over his vessel, Harry, but had a more active and forthcoming approach, _It _could feel. Harry was beginning to understand some things, but not nearly as much as _It _knew.

And _It_ would get the upper hand in the end. _Oh, yes…_ Victory will come with time. Now, _It _merely had to be patient, feed _Its_ knowledge bit by bit to the boy until everything was perfect. Then, and only then, would _It_ be totally victorious.

--

Waking up at the same time as always, Harry found that he felt much more refreshed from the nocturnal activities he indulged himself in last night, mostly in part to the voice inside himself. Speaking of which, he had no idea what to call this voice, really.

'_You can call me whatever you wish to_,' _It_ supplied, almost sleepily, as if _It_ had just woken up as well.

Like that helped any. Now was the time to put his creativity to work… or not. Harry could just call the thing like it is – '_the voice_'. At least he decided on a specific thing to call it, though. Not as if it got him much of anywhere.

But, concerning last night, Harry was singularly impressed by the fact that he'd gotten back from the Forbidden Forest alive and intact, without any detention or expulsion. He put that up to the _Voice's _careful directions and guidance. No way would he have been able to think of doing some of those things to that deer, either. The Voiceconstantly told him to start out small, work up to things like humans, but he'd already killed the Troll. Not in the manner that they usually did, but, it was close enough. The thrill of the hunt and the kill were still present, although not in the level that they had been last night, cutting up the deer with some quick flicks of his wand, then…

He couldn't remember what happened after that, to tell the truth. What had happened, then? Something he was sure that he didn't really want to remember, as shudders slithered down his spine, something akin to horror at the very thought of the thing dragging its icy fingers down his back.

'_You'll learn it, eventually, but it's not for something you to know, at the moment_,' the smooth reassurance of the Voice whispered to him, comforting him a little in the face of something so terrible.

--

Unfortunately, it was close to the end of the winter holidays when Harry finally got around to approaching Professor Quirrell, offering his help around the classroom. This was mostly due to the fact that the Voice kept telling him to use the utmost caution concerning the man, although Harry couldn't exactly see why, unless it had to do with how the man was able to break into that vault at Gringotts. Which was impressive, as the vaults were supposed to be impenetrable.

The professor was obviously thrilled that one of the students didn't mind him enough to help him out with trivial things like neatening the stacks of paper, and other small things that needed to be done around the place. Harry had a very pointed ulterior motive when it came to Quirrell, and he didn't doubt that the professor didn't have a clue that he was the target of the cunning little Slytherin.

At the end of the week, Draco, the pest, and boy who ruined all good plans with his need to be constantly babysat to avoid the terror of the Gryffindors. As if Harry minded that the Gryffindors were harassed by the blonde boy, but he knew that the very doing of such things was going to draw attention to Draco, who, of course, lead to the drawing attention to his "friend", Harry Potter. And that was not something acceptable. Not in the slightest.

So began Harry's second part of the school year.

--

*The _Necronomion_ is a fictitious book that is featured in both Lovecraft's works and others (and I'm going to borrow it for my own devices) and is supposed to contain magic spells and such that are to raise the dead, so forth – essentially, giving a Necromancer powers.

**Notes:** As Dexter fans might notice, I've added a bit of _Dark Passenger_ likeness to Harry's inner voice. (Dexter is a serial killer that kills based upon what the Dark Passenger deems is necessary (just go watch the show or read the books, eh? They're good) and derives pleasure from those sorts of escapades.) And shame on those who haven't figured out who the voice is, yet.

Again, questions, comments, and all other reviews or whatnot can be directed to me in either PM form or by way of the review down on the bottom corner. Just so my readers know, I'm impressed by how many people are alerting this and how many people are reading it, but would appreciate more active readers who aren't afraid of asking questions and telling me what they think about certain key events and the such. Experts say that those who ask question while they read are active readers who enjoy and get more out of the story than the passive readers. Merely a thought to all of you non-reviewers.

I answer any and all questions asked, as long as it's appropriate and pertains to the fanfiction.


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